


Phill The Undead

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gross, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Smut, Teratophilia, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie sex, lots of spit and jizz, loving relationship, not for the flowery types, punk turned teddy bear, really gross zombie sex, submissive boyfriend, zombie dick everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: I feel like Phil (the undead) is a giant sub.A/N: Based off Phill the Undead (http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/post/163791795428/meet-phill-the-undead-gomakeawaffle-he-used-to) from my Monster Boyfriend series of art stuffs on Tumblr. NSFW!I sorta hit a bit of a writing block and had some fun cutting my teeth on this little spot of original fiction. It's less focused on the sub part than I had intended and more on what it might be like as a zombie boyfriend, chained up in a basement, waiting patiently for some brains... and pussy, but it's got zombie smut soo... Enjoy!Please see tags for warnings.





	Phill The Undead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



When he was alive, Phill liked to grab Daizy by the ankle and drag her off the sofa to the laundry room - real fuck-nasty like. The tiny little space was always a mess, littered with stained undershirts and that antique sewing machine she used to use on his band patches, now, of course, it reeks of rotten, blood-covered towels, bleach, and cloying pine freshener - or he assumes it does. It’s not like they’ve got a normal life now.

He can't smell much anymore, but he can pick up on the soft undertones Daizy leaves in the air… especially when she's had a long day in the summer heat, or if she's bleeding.

All that thick, gooey red just waiting below the surface, just the thought of it gets him half-hard. There have been times where his brain-rot allowed him lengthy stints of aimless and vivid daydreams. Wondering if it'd be worth sinking his teeth into her meaty thigh for a raw taste of hot flesh. Picturing eating Daizy always made him feel guilty, so he’d end up settling for graphic fantasies of floppy meat shreds catching in his fangs, all of the tissue belonging to faceless meat bags and not his succulent flower. A flower, who was too pure sometimes that just the thought of it made a part of him feel sick with shame over-

'The triple steakhouse burger! - made with real one-hundred percent Angus beef, smothered in tangy A1 sauce and our signature seasoned onion rings for-'

What was he on about again? Something about… uhhhh’hhhh...

The commercial for the new Burger King special is as hypnotic as slow motion tits a'bouncing in his face.

Phill groans like a dying man at the sight of triple beef patties flopping wetly on top of each other. Even though he's already dead, he digs his ass into the futon that his lovely girlfriend sought to shove under him and licks his teeth as if trying to remember the taste of a good burger. Instead, all he can taste is old blood - metallic and soft like moist wool in his mouth - from the raw steak Daizy fed him that morning. 

Blood - bloody, clotted red and… his stomach gurgles as his brain backfires an image of Daizy curling her nose at a line of red running down her inner thigh. Now that he was a horny zombie, in the best and worst sense possible, the pinnacle of his desires was to bury his teeth in some bloody pussy. Maybe, Daizy could find some way to satiate that appetite without letting him snap her folds off like delicate morsels for the taking. He'd settle for a tongue lick, savoring sharp iron-stains of blood, if he couldn't appease the teeth. 

Maybe she'd buy a dry erase board one of these fucking days so he could leave messages for her when he had brain farts like these. Or, ya know... he could just tell her thanks for hosing him down once a week, for feeding him, keeping him happy and cherished and well fucked despite how gross he'd gotten lately due to the AC being unreliable. Fuck summer and that ten-year-old unit. Maybe, on top of the dry erase board, Daizy could find a way to use him for some supplemental income. She’d have to find a way to get ahold of some dank formaldehyde syringes, probably off-market… the kind with all the stimulants in them. Yeah… then she could rent him out for bullshit jobs without worrying if he’d come back missing something important.

More money meant more syringes which meant more time - more time with her, right? More cuddles and dick rubs and perspiring fucks and careful forehead kisses. They wouldn’t have to worry about him liquefying on her.

And all that pussy... 

The smell of rank sex still permeates the basement, lingering on his tongue when he seeks to taste the air; further ruining his patience. 

He really, really wanted some pussy. Or raw beef and pig brains… or all three. Preferably, all of that drizzled in a big mess with congealed blood for a truly delectable garnish. He may be undead... but he had class, not unlike he did when he was putting chocolate syrup on his tacos after a long gig when the band was still alive.

Sometimes, he wonders what happened to Alfonso and Jim-bob... but they weren't lucky enough to snag a girl like Daizy pre-infection, so if they weren't fertilizer by now then they were definitely not being treated as well as Phill was. No way were they still getting laid.

Feeling like a horny monster, Phill kicks his leg out, curling bony toes inside his converses and deflates with a long groan as the clock ticks. The angle helps pull some pressure away from his erection long enough that he forgets about it. Oddly enough, he still gets aches from being chained up most of the day, but he’d take stiff joints and a sore ass as long as it meant he could still feel Daizy’s soft lips on his temple - her touch against his stomach and the soft grip of her cunt around his rubber-clad cock. 

Undead existence was meaningless without Daizy...

The large flat screen TV is entertaining, and it's not like back when he was alive. No, now he tends to forget he's watched the same episode over and over. He’d have thought being undead would be boring, but with a memory like a goldfish - most of the time - he was always engrossed. It's a pain waiting for her to get home, though. Always is. The torture of waiting was that the only blood left chugging through his body always ended up settling down into his dick and well... in death, he'd become rather lovesick.

Every errant thought about her rosy cheeks and mouth-watering lips - curled into one of those earth shattering smiles - gave him an erection. And with every erection came with it the worry that his luck would run out and it’d explode. Or it'd just fall off like a strangled finger. Another reason they needed to find a way to get ahold of some of that preservative juice. 

Sometimes if he were really hard up, fifteen minutes of pumping his hips up and down - fucking the seam of his jeans - would bring him some relief but then there'd be a crusty cumstain waiting for Daizy when she finally opened the basement door. 

Phill didn't wanna make any more of a mess, least not more than he could help. 

Another episode of Futurama begins. This one he remembers watching many times before. Most of the parts felt new, even if he remembers reciting off the same lines to Daizy when they were drunk or just being dumb. Or high. 

A long trail of drool starts to flow down the side of his bony jaw, cooling in a wet pile on his shirt; staining down to the tattered skin below. 

Fuck… He missed her. 

Another long, gurgling groan leaves his throat. Braying like an animal, he tries to call out Daizy's name, but nothing but chop-slop comes out, leaving him feeling more than a little inadequate.

He’d give his left nut to be able to talk again. 

Phill missed talking with his girlfriend as much as he did burgers and fries - as much as he did just being able to lay down with her without being muzzled and tied up like a rabid dog. Just once, he'd like to nuzzle her ear without wanting to crack her head open and tongue the sweet, spongy gray matter below the bone. So creamy.

Mmm… Brainzzz...

“...ggguugh!” 

The boner under the zipper of his jeans was starting to hurt. Thinking about brains and raw meat was just as sweet as thinking about pussy now. Couldn't be helped, though it'd be nice not having two things that controlled his life but with immortality came drawbacks. Always being horny for some wet snatch had been hard enough to handle when he was alive… but the chains helped keep him from wrecking too much havoc these days.

On TV, the orange-haired dude starts trying to mouth a pineapple, and with a huff, Phill attempts a laugh but ends up hacking instead. More thick drool slips in clotting strings down the hard slope of his bone-chin. 

Messy, he thinks with blank, drooping eyes as the episode plays out like a kaleidoscope of emotional responses and bright color. Another starts up immediately, seamless if not for the catchy intro.

After enough Futurama, he must have zonked out, because next time his rotten brain tickles awake, Daizy is standing in the corner of the basement, bent over her shoes. Her soft round ass peeks at him from under the hem of her skirt, showing a teasing hint of pink lace. Those soft, twin curves of fat sing to him, looking bruised around the underside crease where she'd been sitting in the car on the ride home. Or maybe an asshole pinched her rump while she was serving drinks. 

Another thing he missed was fist fights... and mosh pits and socking pervy shitheels in their shit sniffers.

Daizy sighs, bouncing on her heels and reaches around to readjust the edge of her underwear, accentuating the plump curve of her pussy. Her cheeks jiggle as she kicks her work shoes off. A chummy sound falls out of his throat, and he grins with nasty, sharp teeth as those round globes clench in surprise. This time, his chest manages a ragged laugh at the rosy red on her face when she twists around, glaring; embarrassed.

“Goddamn, Phillip… I thought you were in night mode.”

He snorts, eyeing her figure lewdly. 

Even with a face like his, she still gets all flustered by the way Phill eye-fucks her. No sense changing shit around now. For some reason, she liked the attention, so he wasn't gonna waste any brain power trying to stifle that particular urge. He had other demons to bade back down.

Daizy smiles, picking up an imaginary convo seamlessly, “Yeah, well… Some of them sleep. Just cause you don't dream anymore doesn't mean you don't need some ‘Z’s’ once in awhile.” 

Phill lifts a half-rotten brow as she pinches the clip out of her hair, letting loose those long, blonde locks over her shoulders. More drool pools behind his teeth at the taste it leaves in the damp air. There's a twinkle in her eye as his black bulbs flutter hungrily. He rumbles, and drools as more of the fruity aroma of her hair puffs out while she tussles the sweaty strands at the base of her neck. 

Oh… Fuck him sideways and cut his black-brown heart out. Boner-ville, he thinks, growling steadily. He really wants to hear about her day, and he will regardless now that he can't shut her up with a cock in her mouth, but…

… yeah… he misses raw blowjobs too, maybe more than burgers. 

Her sloppy kisses, especially the half-drunk ones were golden. Lips… He’d need those to kiss her with - not like she'd let him, though. Daizy wouldn’t risk a kiss, even with his skilled lips back. She was too smart to let him get his teeth anywhere near her. Good thing too, as much as he wouldn't mind having an immortal zombie girlfriend, one of them needed some brains - brains that weren't rotting.

Honestly, while he had some complaints, life was pretty high-class. She took great measure to keep him from biting or losing any fluids inside her. He wasn't sure what she saw in his rotten corpse now that it was starting to stink up the place, but he’d be willing as long as she'd have him. Unless he fell apart, Phill thinks unhappily. 

What more could he want? He had free TV, farm-animal brains and slabs of raw beef on the daily. Daizy gave him careful head kisses, pussy and pussy and delicious pussy - oh… The pussy!

Even though he's hungry, the thought of a slippery, hot slice of Daizy-cunt makes his dick twitch to life again. 

“Ghurrrreeeee…” he tries, wondering if that sounded anything like the plea for pussy it clearly is. With a deceptive smile, curled meanly at the edges, Daizy undoes the buttons on her checkered work shirt and, as if God exists, bares two free bouncing tits. She knew him too well. 

For an undead punk, he was one lucky son of a bitch. 

Phill licks the points of his upper teeth lewdly, eying the soft swell of creamy skin and pink pasties. Couldn't have asked for a better girl. He wasn't sure what he'd done while alive to attract something as wonderful as her, but he'd done something right for a girl as hot and patient as Daizy to stick with him now that he was even more of a slob than before. 

Instead of dragging her into the laundry room so he could set the wash to spin and throw her up on the unit - filling her up with hard dick until ‘she’ was the one drooling - now it's he that gets tugged around like a dog on a leash.

If he could voice his disapproval, it'd be a lie. Phill fucking loved being shoved around and fucked like a blow-up, zombie fuck-toy. He liked it way more than he should - way, way more that Living Phill would have liked to admit.

When alive, he worried too much about keeping up his alpha male prowess, even if he'd thought himself above all that. Now that he’s dead, his dick quivers just thinking about the process Daizy has to go through to get him prepped for a lengthy fuck. 

Another bonus of being dead was how long his dick stayed hard. There’d been many endless sessions in the early days where Daizy had taken her allotted sick-days just so she could destroy herself on his contained blood flow. She pulled a few muscles and bruised more than her ass on her foray into zombie fucking status, but it looked like she was as hooked on him as he was on her - and brains… can’t forget the brains and the meat.

Took at least twenty minutes to soften him up after blowing a load and it didn't take long for the black blood to settle back in. His body, while functional, was a bit slow and there’d been a few times where the magnum condoms Daizy bought nearly ruptured from all the spent loads he’d cum in them. 

More walls of spittle break down the torn meat of his cheek, slipping off the dense slice of jaw-line to stain his shirt in a warm, rancid wash. 

“Oh, poor baby…” Daizy feigns sympathy, watching his gooey spit slide over the grimy leather of his vest. He may be dead, but he wasn't an idiot… Well, not as far as he knew or could understand but she liked to play this ‘Oh, Phill’s a dumb zombie now, poor thing!’ too often for his liking. 

Sometimes Phill liked it, but his cock was as hard as the bone showing on his face and unless he made a scene, she’d keep the baby talk going until he shot off without a rubber on. 

It was harder to get infected than people realized. Hell, they could probably bareback it every now as then as long as she didn’t get a weak immune system out of the blue, but risking it was useless… and the idea of his spunk making her brain rot didn’t get him nearly as giddy as keeping her healthy and happy did.

With a weak hip thrust, Phill tries his best to say please but it's wet and worthless without lips - all throaty and ragged. Lucky for him, Daizy’s smile softens knowingly and mercifully.

“Maybe when I get that settlement check from the diner, we can get you some juice and see that one guy about fixing your vocal chords. As hot as the grunting is, I miss you telling me to shut the fuck up sometimes,” she admits this while peeling the pasties away from her tits, revealing hard rosy nipples. His dead eyes narrow at the needy looking buds. If she’d only let him, he could soothe them with a few hearty licks.

If he could talk again, he may have argued her into something dangerous like that. Phill remembers being good at that - getting them both into trouble. The scar on her knee, a long silver mess that shows under her skirt hem, brings back some memory where he’d convinced her to do something stupid, resulting in her injury. The details are gone, maybe forever, but it's a reminder that he used to be a bit of an asshat. 

Naw, as much as he missed talking, it was probably best he couldn’t anymore. Not like he could tell Daizy that though, and most of his chivalry is lost in a glow of virus-built hunger when she kneels down on the futon beside him; tits all a'bounce!

“... uuh’rah…”

“I know, you cursed too much and sometimes you were a douche bag… But you were the fucking King at making me laugh. I suppose you do the best you can with what ya got now,” her eyelashes flutter, reminiscing, “Still, it'd be nice to hear you say my name at least.”

“Zzzzz…”

“Nice try, big dick,” she whispers fetchingly, pressing one single finger to the bulge rising up from his tattered jeans while the other curls fingers in the ratty ends of his green mohawk. It's a tease. She's turned into such a damn tease that, if he weren't already mindless, she'd make him so. Who knew he’d end up being such a submissive bitch in his post-living state? 

“I've had a rough day, and you know what would really relax me?”

Phill tries to say ‘cock’ but ends up hacking grossly. Even though his apple-cheeked angel wrinkles her nose in disgust, the one finger on his covered erection turns into two, and then she's pinching his button and zipper; letting refreshing air into the damp heat contained in his jeans along with the fog of stale cock. 

How she deals with the smell of him, he’ll never know, but Daizy just smirks at the sight of his turgid dick and the exposed veins pounding down like rootwork from tip to base. It's a sight only a loving girlfriend could appreciate which makes Phill feel more than hunger this time. She’s perfect...

“Someone’s happy to see me,” she coos before leaving him on the floor to crawl over to the cardboard box in the corner. It’s the waiting for her that Phill just can’t stand. Time feels meaningless… like maybe he really does have the mind of goldfish or a small dog, but when he’s waiting for her, it contradicts itself. The world slows to a crawl.

Always happy to see you, he thinks with bubbles piping under his ribs. No matter how long he has to wait.

Clinically, Daizy starts pulling out all the equipment. The condoms come out, followed by latex gloves, a fresh surgical mask, ozone spray, a jumbo bottle of lube and that obnoxious cordless vibrator with the glitter handle and jelly flaps. 

His muscles - exposed and skin-coated - jump as Daizy snaps a pair of gloves on. Surveying her equipment, Daizy smacks her lips, and this time his dick bounces at the sound; stomach pulling with excitement.

Phill watches her toe off her socks and wiggles out of the work skirt, panties barely making it to her ankles before she's up on her bare feet. With steady, unblinking eyes, he watches her pad towards the anchor bolted into the wall - his leash she called it once. 

Running the length of his chain through the bolted thread, Phill’s neck snaps sharply around his collar. His mind's slow like he realized again earlier, and it takes a few sharp tugs to get his knees bending. 

Daizy clicks her tongue, pulling hard on his leash until he’s standing, converses flat on the futon; vest spikes screaming against baked-clay bricks with his back to the wall. The cords in his neck tense and he gurgles as his cock starts to go numb with trapped blood. One of the longer spikes from his leather collar digs into his sternum, but the pain is dull and about as good as the ache in his dick, and it's times like these that he's glad the zombie apocalypse and subsequent end of said apocalypse left him a half-minded undead and not… well, dead-dead. 

Even locked up in the basement as his girlfriend's sex slave and cuddle buddy, Phill was pretty sure life - and death - took a sweet turn for the most part. 

The mask is as welcome as it is disappointing. The air freshener? - a necessity and something he’s not as embarrassed about anymore.

Daizy fists the bottle of lube, squeezing a noisy wad of clear jelly into her latex palm. Without wasting a second to warn him, she fists his cock, jells him up and sighs... almost dreamily. She gives him a few tight fist jerks before leaving him high and dry - well, still lubed - to walk across the room to the chair. 

That chair, he thinks greedily. 

Daizy likes to ride him most times, but once she found that heavy barber’s chair on the side of the road, it’d become a staple in her routine. From the dark corner of the basement, she drags the old school seat across the floor, positioning it a few feet in front of him and edges herself between his jutting dick and nineteen-sixties upholstery. That first little touch of her rump on his cock is like static electricity.

Daizy wastes no time. She reaches a hand up under her stomach, thumbs his cockhead and presses her ass back until he pops through that tight ring of flesh and there he finds it - his afterlife.

Getting backed into over and over, rosy cheeks slapping into his bony hips, watching his rubber-coated dick disappear into slippery, pink pussy was gratifying in a way tossing Daizy around had never been. Being used, shivering with orgasm after orgasm as his collar pulled tight under his jaw - tugging leather flesh - got him higher than any illicit drug ever had. 

Around his cock, Phill watches the inner flesh of her cunt drag back and forth over the condom, leaving glistening pearls of fluid behind. The condom hides most of the wear and tear on his dick, but it’s impossible to pretend it’s anything but undead cock she’s fucking.

“... oh,” she moans; spine bowing. 

His knees are shaking like something out of a cartoon, but the chains keep him up, and even though his hands are bound behind his back, he digs into the brickwork with blunt nails and snarls behind the thick nylon mask. Drool backwashes between his teeth as he cums, filling the rubber cap with putrid jizz with every stuttering thrust. 

“Fuck me,” Daizy breathes; gloves crinkling on the heavy barber's chair she uses to brace herself on. The red upholstery is sweaty and rubbed down by her palms over the months of use, but it’s made a great prop for their epic fucks. 

As the pleasure becomes overwhelming - his lovely girlfriend ceaseless - Phill starts to grunt and groan and gurgle for her to stop. He begs for mercy but she's merciless, and while he’s sure she knows how painfully good it is for him even without his voice, she never stops until she's done. 

He loves her… But she's a monster sometimes - not to say he doesn’t deserve it more often than not.

When the pleasure stops hurting, Phill simpers and chuckles wetly. Watching the jiggle of her ass lewdly as it slaps into his stomach. He licks up the nylon padding as spit starts pooling under the cusp; leaking down his neck. With his mind going, his imagination gets more vivid at times. It's almost easy imagining he's licking her salty flesh as his tongue swirls inside his mask. 

‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuckme’fuckme’ - it's a mantra she repeats when she's close. So breathy and weak and desperate and while his dick's still stiff, Phill curls his nails into his palms, shoves his shoulders down into the unforgiving brick and starts snapping his hips into her plush behind.

All that mouthwatering flesh blurs as it bounces at warp fucking speed against the pummel of the dick he drives into her. Daizy pants, holding firm against the barber's chair and braces herself. 

“Yes-don't stop… don't stop…” 

He can't. Even if he wanted to, he’s pretty much let his brain take a backseat.

Once he's going like this, it's all muscle memory over logic. Mind melting back into primal gratification. If Daizy won't feed him meat… He’ll fuck it; tender and juicy. And he does. Phill fucks his sweet little flower long after she's cum around his cock - long after she’s past that ultra raw stage - and keeps on plowing that dripping garden.

A brilliant sweat breaks out over her back, catching the glow of the TV set and the rewired fluorescents overhead as he keeps humping and snapping and growling. Someone snarls and like that first time - all taboo and nasty - she's fucking herself with his fat dick, and he's giving it to her while his brain shuts down and its blood and pussy he wants. Mindless. Real horrorshow, movie monster. 

Metal chain links click, threatening to break, but before Phill can register what's happening, his dick is sans tight cunt. Blotchy red ass and all, Daizy throws the chair out of the way, stumbles back and forth until she’s fisting his chains. The chain slackens, and without warning, he’s falling unhappily to the floor like a sack of meat. 

His teeth snap behind the mask, cutting his growls with razor edges as naked skin shines just out of his reach. 

The reek of hot snatch and sweat stings, jostling the hunger. Bloody… Pussy! - he thinks, wild and barren-minded, gaping at the damp curls between her thighs. Just a taste. Just one lick. 

“Phill.”

Maybe a nibble or two…

“Phill… Phillip!”

His attention snaps, brackish eyes aimed upwards. Daizy is flushed red and wet - hair damp around her neck and shoulders and… grinning. There are few things in his world now as delicious as her standings there, chain wrapped around latex gloves, naked and glistening and looking like something out of horror-punk music video.

“Get on your back,” she demands, abolishing any 'hard to soft, soft to hard' journey just like that, “or do I have to make you do it again? ‘Cause… if I have to, well… I actually can. Can't I?”

“... gehh’huh,” he tries, feeling itchy from dyed green-tips to busted rubber soles. With a noisy shuffle and growl, he goes flat on the floor, chain loose around his neck despite the hunger making his innards feel hot and creamy. 

Warm nectar softens the hard, dead skin around his cock as Daizy sits down on all seven and a half inches of fat zombie dick - his thick zombie dick. It still feels weird realizing he is what he is, and that, despite it, she’s been giving him some of the best sex of his life… or death, whatever ya wanted to call it. She’s such a freak, he thinks with a hidden grin.

Crazy fucking girl… oooo’oh… but… pussy...

Her hips twist and rock, cumbersome and fast. She’s playing with fire by grinding down so hard - hard enough her little pink clit starts going red against the rough skin beyond the condom, but Phill takes it all with a giddy snarl under the mask; huffing and puffing manically at the sloppy sight. 

She's coming again, he thinks. It's hard to tell after she's had her first because she gets so slippery and wet that it's like fucking a busted pipe, all squelchy and soft. Her tits bounce on her ribs, going as flush as her face. More rashes start popping up on her stomach and shoulders the more she whimpers in his lap. Like a good boy, Phill snaps his teeth shut, plants his shoes and lifts his hips up, so she writhing in his lap with her knees barely skimming the floor. More pressure - more skin to skin contact with her clit grinding hard over tense muscle.

A weak leak of dead jizz floods out of his dick when she tilts her hips, focusing all her weight on her clit, her latex palms gripping the solid line of his waist. Snarls fall out the sides of his teeth, running on currents of spit as Daizy whimpers, fingers curling and cutting the air with a few hard screams as she definitely - for fucking sure - cums for the second time. Those weak contracts flutter around his cock, through the rubber and a few millimeters of dead nerves, but they’re there, Phill can feel them like he’s trying to stand stiff against an earthquake.

“... fuck you,” Daizy sighs, grinning with wet lips and smudged mascara.

Phill groans, feeling his back pop, vertebrae unhinging as he collapses to the futon, spent and weary enough for an afternoon nap and some cartoons. Above him, his flower insults him again, happy and tired before willingly laying over his chest. She’s mindful enough to avoid the wet spit-patches, but still…

Maybe after a little snooze, she’ll be willing to go again. Phill knows he’d be ready for more whenever and however she wants it.

In the post fuck fog, Phill blinks, blurry and dazed at the TV set behind the generous dough of Daizy’s ass. It was Friday, right? So, that meant today was bathtime… Which meant another chance to get his tongue up her cunt again. Maybe this time he'd grab a taste, or at the very least she’ll shower with him which will most certainly get him another fuck in before she pulls up the air mattress and turns in for the night.

But first, feeding time. 

On cue, his stomach gurgles - sounding more like a belly fart than a rumble - and with a wistful moan, Daizy rolls off him, laughing softly, “... ugh, you are like a second job, aren't you? It's like having a kid, a pit bull and a boyfriend all in one.”

“Urrrr'hhhhh…” he tells her. 

“Yeah, but fucking hot dog damn! You're worth the headache, baby... even if you weren't still a stud in the sack, I don't think I could stomach turning you in.”

Phill tries to tell her he loves her before realizing it sounds like he's digesting a lawn mower and settles for pumping his hips up a few times. His stiff dick smacks obscenely against his sticky stomach, but maybe she understands it's meant to convey his undying, but dead, devotion for her. 

“Love you too, Phillip,” she sighs affectionately with a big smile on her face. Her toes wiggle against the hole in his jeans, clipped nails teasing a bare bit of bone. 

“... even if you smell like death.”

She shoulda used more ozone spray...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for those that read and those that enjoy my Monster Boyfriend stuffs so far. Let me know what you thought of this if you have the time. I've never posted any original fiction before, so this is new territory for me. Hopefully, it was enjoyable. <3
> 
> [PILLOWFORT](https://www.pillowfort.io/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
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